


In Dreams and Death

by deadptarmigan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadptarmigan/pseuds/deadptarmigan
Summary: AU. Harry/Ginny. Three years ago, during a terrifying battle at the Department of Mysteries, Ginny fell through the Veil. Now that Voldemort is defeated, and his life is his own, Harry begins to realize what he lost that day. Please enjoy this dark little story.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry stumbled away from her. He felt like there was a great wave crashing down on him. "No," he said. "You  _couldn't_ have done what you're saying, Ginny! Tell me you didn't."

"Harry, listen—"

But whatever Ginny'd been about to say was lost. There was a great clap, and a fiery rush. A phoenix appeared in the center of the room. The veil whooshed backward at the force of it. And then Dumbledore was there, down at the center of the amphitheater, staring up at them. Harry felt another, great shock at his appearance.

"Good evening, Harry, Miss Weasley," he said pleasantly.

"What – you—"

Dumbledore was shaking out his robes. "Oh, my. My, my, my. Back where it happened, are you?"

Ginny grimaced.

But then Harry only had eyes for Dumbledore. "You!" he said loudly. "You were there in my vision… you stopped me going with my parents!"

"I believe that was Miss Weasley's aim," Dumbledore said amicably.

"You said – you told me that I had no idea how much I was loved," Harry accused. "You could have  _told me_. I thought it was – just, you know, my friends… the Weasleys. You didn't tell me that  _someone else_ had to—"

Dumbledore shrugged eloquently. "I did not think it the appropriate time to reveal such a thing to you. I knew it would happen eventually."

"You knew—" Harry was too angry to even finish his sentence.

"Of course I didn't know when I was living, but there are few things obscured from the dead, as long as the dead know where to look," said Dumbledore. "There is a bit of a learning curve, but I think I have got the hang of it now. With Fawkes's help, of course."

Harry made a small sound of outrage. He jabbed a finger at Ginny. "She's  _dead_ because of me!"

"I'm not dead," Ginny said.

"She's not dead," Dumbledore said at exactly the same time.

Harry looked at her. Her shoulders were firm, her jaw was set. There was only determination on her face.

"Watch, Harry," said Dumbledore.

And then the room was suddenly full of Death Eaters and teenagers, all of them battling their hardest. Harry was dueling Bellatrix on the dais upon with the Veil stood. All of her spells were missing him, but then he – he tripped, whirled, and his arm went beyond the Veil. At the same instant, Sirius slashed Bellatrix in the back with a curse, and she fell in a heap.

Harry pulled his arm out of the Veil, looking down in panic at how it looked—

There was a great cry of a loon. It echoed through the room. Everything disappeared and turned to mist. He could hear Ginny crying… sobbing as though her heart were broken…

And then everything shifted again. It was the same battle, with a few key differences. Harry watched in horror as he saw it was now  _Ginny_ battling Bellatrix. She was graceful in the duel, she made it a dance. But she too tripped, and it was her entire body—

"NO!" shouted Harry.

And he watched his own stunned body jolt as though struck by lightning, was buffeted across the room, and just managed to close his fingers around Ginny's ankle before she disappeared entirely.

"I was separated from my body," said Ginny. "I was floating… drifting. Then – after you defeated Voldemort, I could  _feel_ you—"

"I do believe that once the Horcrux was gone from Harry, he was open to the connection you share," Dumbledore said. "It was bravely done, Miss Weasley."

"You aren't… angry?" Ginny said tentatively.

"Angry that my death brought about the continued life of Harry?" Dumbledore shook his head, laughing a little. "No. Oh my dear, no. Goodness, no."

"It wasn't purposeful," she said firmly. "I just wanted him to be offered the choice that was his right to make. You told me so, after all the funerals. You told me that he could've come back. And he would've, if only he'd  _known_."

Harry swallowed hard. Ginny was brave, there was no denying that. But the last thing Harry'd ever wanted was for someone else to make a sacrifice for him, the way his mother had.  _You have no idea how much you are loved_. And he could see it, in Ginny's face, in her posture, how much she loved him.

It hurt.

"How is this real?" Harry said faintly. He did not know whether he was asking this of Dumbledore or of Ginny.

"We're soulmates," Ginny said simply.

Harry closed his eyes; a muscle jerked in his jaw. "Yeah, I…"

"With a passionate connection," she added.

"That I know," said Harry. "I just want to know… those fantasies I've been having are real? Er – they  _were_ real?"

Ginny nodded.

"But how did this  _happen_?" Harry turned to Dumbledore. "I didn't know she was calling for me. I just knew I would – would look for her in my dreams—"

"I think you ought to at least acknowledge that the dreams you are sharing with Miss Weasley are very nearly reality," Dumbledore said. "Your two souls are creating this place where you can meet—"

"And this is all we'll have," Harry said tonelessly. "The rest of my life. All I'll have are memories of a life that isn't really mind, not anymore, and dreams."

Harry sat on the edge of the amphitheater and put his head in his hands. Movement whispered, and he felt Dumbledore sit beside him. "Intent  _matters_  when a wizard acts," he whispered. "Sometimes you aren't told everything because if you know it, your intent changes. Remember that, Harry."

"We have a  _passionate connection_ , Harry," Ginny said again. She sounded very far away.

"Remember that," Dumbledore said again.

At those inexplicable words, the phoenix cried one piercing note, and Harry woke.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry's waking thought was that he was trapped somehow in a nightmare. Added to his pain at the knowledge that Ginny had taken a vile curse upon herself on his behalf was the sour stomach and sore head of too much firewhiskey. He conjured a basin just in time.

He did not leave his bed for hours. At one point, Sirius came. "All right, Harry?" Sirius asked.

"Go away," Harry said quietly.

His new knowledge battered at him. He thought endlessly of that — that fantasy he'd had the day before.  _I guess it's not a fantasy, but a memory,_ he thought resentfully. He'd gone to Voldemort, and fully died, leaving Voldemort to kill some of Ginny's family before Dumbledore could kill Voldemort for good. When the dust settled, she and Sirius, both tormented and alone, had hatched a plan between them to "set things right. And damn the consequences. He was so angry with her his heart hurt. He suspected it may even be broken.

It was another couple hours before Sirius came back. "Harry. Come out."

 _I'm just coming out because I was getting hungry anyway_ , he told himself. He struggled out of bed, and did not bother to change. Harry smelled like a distillery.

Sirius, on the other hand, had obviously taken some time to clean up after last night's ill-advised amount of booze. Harry glared at him balefully. Sirius had been so adamant last night that the egg was not to be used. But with Ginny, he'd obviously been completely spineless! He'd thrown her into danger, laid the mantle of his family's curse over her shoulders. And he had no idea what he'd done.

"God damn it, Sirius," Harry muttered.

He threw himself into the same chair he'd been sitting in last night. "Where's Ron?"

"Went home after I set him up with a hang-over potion," Sirius said. He thrust a steaming mug into Harry's hand. Harry had the absurd urge to throw it at him. Then he took a sip, and his thoughts toward Sirius gentled.

The worst of the physical pain went away, leaving only the ache of Ginny's sacrifice.

"Ginny Weasley?" Sirius asked in a low voice. Grey eyes met Harry's startled ones.

"I, uh—"

"Don't try to deny it, last night, you were—"

"Drunk," Harry said shortly.

"Heart-broken," Sirius corrected. "I think even Ron noticed, bless him."

Harry wanted to tell him that however crushed he had been last night, it was nothing compared to how it had felt to discover who made the wish that dashed his hopes. "Yeah, well, I..."

"I didn't know you felt for her like that," Sirius said, watching him closely. "None of us knew. In fact, I thought about it a bit this morning, and I wonder if there's something you aren't telling me. About you. And Ginny. And why you're suddenly not someone who lost a friend, but a man who lost his love." Harry squirmed like a worm on a hook. "All those questions about Capella, and if I thought it was possible for people to be in love even though they aren't near each other."

Harry was quiet for a moment. "She called to me," he said.  _We had — have a passionate connection, Harry_ , she'd said. _We were already tethered before you used Badeea's spells, but I was drifting so far, and it always took you so long to find me._ She'd called to him using their connection. No wonder why Harry kept coming the second he found her. He envisioned a long string tying from her straight to his penis.

"She called to you," Sirius said.

"In my dreams," said Harry. "She isn't lost, not totally. She just can't find her way back to her body."

"Harry..."

"You're the one who said it," Harry said resentfully. "She's my soulmate. I'm supposed to be able to find her."

"I don't know if soulmates are real," Sirius said gently. "At least, not the way you are describing."

"I just got done having someone else's soul living in me," Harry pointed out. "I think I—"

"And I think that may be partly why you're feeling this way," Sirius said. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, and shook his hair out of his eyes. "Harry, I wish your dad were here. This is one of those moments..."

"It's not one of those moments. Ginny's my soulmate, I know she is. There is no question," Harry said with great irritation.

"You don't sound very happy about that," Sirius pointed out.

For several reasons, Harry had to admit, chief of which was the fact she was living in a suitcase, unresponsive to the world. No wonder why Hermione'd always been so irritated with him for his "saving people thing". What was the point of saving his life if she couldn't be in it? There was no way he was going to be able to come back from this. Ginny'd basically died to save him. And now he was cursed to live an entire life without her.

That wasn't  _saving_ him.

And, Merlin help him, he knew exactly why she'd done it, and he knew if the situation was reversed, he'd do the same thing. He'd been ready to make Ron do it, and it hadn't been the drink. He'd been willing to do everything for her... and she'd done the same thing for him.

"Damn it, Ginny," he whispered.

"—I wish for both our sakes the old stories were true," Sirius said. "If only you could kiss Ginny, or I could kiss Capella, and everything would magically—"

"What did you say?" Harry said sharply.

"You know," Sirius said, surprised. "You know. The old stories, where you wake someone with a kiss. True love's kiss, or some such rot."

But Harry's brain, less sluggish now than it had been before he'd drunk Sirius's potion, began to churn through possibilities.

_Can people fall in love in a dream?_

_Oh, Harry. I'm hoping so._

What if she'd needed him to fall in love with her because that was the only way she'd be able to wake up?

And Dumbledore, telling him that intention mattered. That actions mattered.

Harry was already standing, already heading toward Ginny's suitcase. He was so far gone over her, he'd begun resenting the time he spent awake. Sirius's words — that being in love didn't necessarily mean being happy about it — rang true here.

It didn't even matter that his best hope was stolen out of the pages of a fairy tale. Hadn't Harry spent the last few weeks learning that the oldest stories had an element of truth to them? The Hallows, the loon...

 _Please work,_ Harry thought.

He was standing in front of her. He pulled off his glove, murmured a spell that released Ginny from her constant revolution. She hovered there on her back.  _Please be this simple_ , Harry begged. He ran through every memory of her he had, from this life, and from the alternate reality from which Ginny had come. He thought of the radishes, and how beautiful she was, and how much he needed her. He thought of their passion for each other.

And then, after taking a deep breath, Harry moved so that his lips pressed against hers. There was no pressure. It felt like kissing cool mist.

He focused on the radishes, the love he'd felt in all those memories, the love that was growing impossibly so during his dreams. The pure passion she made him feel. He poured all of that into the kiss...

And her lips firmed under his. His heart pounded, and he feared opening his eyes. But she was kissing him back. Fiercely. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, and she was  _kissing him back._

Her arms went around his neck. Her fingers went into his hair. Her body surged toward his.

She was real, and in his arms.

They broke apart.

Harry finally dared open his eyes. When he finally did, he found her there, standing before him. Her eyes were wide and brimming. He inspected her, head to toe, and found no trace of the ghostly aspect on her.

_She was real._


	2. chapter two

1.

The younger Weasleys and Harry's old classmates took over the Leaky Cauldron a few nights later. At first, one or two people trickled in, holding their fake galleons. Harry thought Tom, the old landlord, might have had a couple quiet words for the patrons who were not part of Harry's old Hogwarts crowd. Most of them came by to either goggle at Harry, or offer quiet thanks, but they all trickled out. By the time ten o'clock rolled around, Harry knew every single person in the room.

Some he was not so delighted to see.

"Oh, Harry," Romilda Vane sighed, and leaned into him. Harry pulled back, not even bothering to try to be polite. This made her cling tighter. Her hand was on his leg, traveling up his thigh.

Harry stood. "Pardon me," he said icily. "I think your friends over by the bar want to see you."

Fred and George, who were acting as his bodyguards, steered her away none too gently. "Reminds me of when we were all on the Quidditch team together," Fred said cheerfully.

"Are you calling Romilda Vane a bludger?" Hermione asked. She was on her third gillywater, Harry saw, and was listing slightly in her seat.

"We call 'em like we see 'em," said George.

All the tables had been scraped together in the center of the dimly-lit room. Their victory was still fresh and new, and Harry sensed that everyone wanted to be as near each other as possible. Harry did not feel any particular urge to snuggle his old school friends, but he seemed the only one who didn't.

Harry looked around the room. People were gathered in knots, standing and sitting much closer to each other than normal. Neville, Seamus, and Dean were all crowded in the same booth, right behind Harry's, practically sitting on each other's laps. "Everyone's all so close."

Ron pulled Hermione into his lap. "I need some comfort," he mumbled into her neck, kissing it. The twins jeered. Harry sipped his firewhiskey. It wasn't that he wanted Romilda Vane, or even wanted to  _want_ her attentions. But everyone was obviously drawing comfort from being close to one another, and he felt more like an island.

An image of Ginny flickered in his mind. Harry immediately shoved his loneliness away. Now that was  _true_ loneliness, he suspected. Ginny'd been asleep for three years now, and her family could not even touch her without worrying they were doing damage to her internal organs. It wasn't that she was bruised when they touched her – nearly the opposite. Ginny was not… totally solid, and they worried that once they figured out a way to reverse the damage, her insides would be hurt by years of having her organs intruded upon. Everyone felt that only Harry's own cursed hand – which was afflicted with the same thing as almost Ginny's entire body – could touch her safely.

 _That_ was true loneliness. Not any pitiful feelings Harry could come up with on his own.

The evening progressed. Lee Jordan passed around a pipe that had a funny smell coming from it. Harry shook his head when it passed to him. Ron and Hermione partook of what Seamus told them was called giggleblossom, and everything was immediately funny. To them.

"Oh, God, Harry, remember when Romilda came over?" Hermione gasped.

"Er, yes, that was less than an hour ago," Harry replied.

" _Pardon me_ ," Ron said in his poshest tone. " _If you could please take your hand off my wand_... I'm surprised she didn't turn into an icicle."

"Maybe I didn't want to be poisoned again," Harry retorted, referring to the incident back in the early part of seventh year. Romilda'd levitated chocolate filled with love potion into his trunk, and Harry'd made the mistake of eating them.

"Oh, I forgot about that," Hermione said. His two oldest friends dissolved into giggles. Harry eyed them.

"And her hand wasn't on my wand," Harry muttered. Why he felt the need to tell them this, he didn't understand.

Fred ruffled his hair. "Poor Harry," he said sympathetically.

George patted his shoulder. "It's just going to get worse, you know. You're the savior of the Wizarding World." It made Harry very uncomfortable that George said this with a straight face. "They're going to throw themselves at you in droves."

The twins were close enough that Harry could smell gunpowder. Using both of his gloved hands, he pushed George with his left hand and Fred with his right until they took the hint and slid over.

"You need a girlfriend, Harry, that'd loosen you up," Ron said.

"I don't need to be loosened up," Harry said tightly.

But they were laughing again, and Harry decided to go up and grab another drink. Tom grinned his toothless grin, waved Harry's sickles away, and handed him a dusty old bottle. "My best firewhiskey," said Tom. "Please take it."

"Thank you, Tom," Harry said sincerely.

Halfway back to the table, inspiration struck, and he vanished the bottle. He didn't want to waste it... Harry was already feeling enough lassitude. He could save it for another time. He walked out the side door, to the entrance to Diagon Alley. The cold night air hit him like a stunning spell, and he gulped in fresh air.

"All right, Harry?"

Cho's voice.

Her dark hair blended in with the shadows.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Harry. "Just wanted a breath of fresh air."

It was awkward to stand there in the darkness with her. He remembered encounters he'd had with Cho in similarly private settings, and wished he hadn't had his stupid impulse.

"—sent you a bit of a compulsion charm," Cho was admitting.

"What?" Harry said sharply. "That's why I came out here?"

"Yes," said Cho. To his annoyance, she sounded near tears. "I just wanted to thank you. I have never seen such bravery... and you  _lived_. You survived another Killing Curse... no one  _does_ that. Cedric didn't."

"Those were different circumstances," Harry said. His feet shifted, ready to march back inside under their own volition.

Cho reached out and her hand brushed his chest. Then lingered there.

Harry stepped backward, no longer concerned about seeming rude.

"Harry, we used to..."

"I have to much going on right now. I have too much to think about. Too much to do. I have too much going on right now, Cho. With everything. With Voldemort, with Ginny. I can't do this."

"Ginny  _Weasley_?" There was a note of great disbelief in her tone. "Isn't she, erm... basically...?"

"We're going to get that fixed," Harry said sharply. "That's what we're going to do, now that Voldemort's gone. We're going to bring her back."

Cho was silent. "That doesn't mean we can't... be like we used to be, does it?"

"I'm not leaving Ginny behind, because that's not what friends  _do_ ," Harry said. She was crying, and that made Harry suddenly angry. "If I recall correctly, you wouldn't really understand, though, right? Your idea of friendship differs from mine. Isn't that why we — broke up in the first place? You seemed to think it was fine to betray your friends as long as you had a good enough excuse — like, oh, say, your parents were high enough up in the Ministry."

"That's—"

"Totally fair, and you know it," said Harry. "Don't use that charm on me again." Harry stepped toward the door, yanked it open, and went inside the noisy pub. He no longer felt like celebrating with his friends.

2.

Sirius was still out when Harry returned to Grimmauld Place, so he had no gauge for how long the portrait had been screaming. Its cries echoed through the entire house, and Harry was certain someone was being tortured. A man, judging by the depth of the screams. He sprinted forward, adrenaline pumping through his veins.  _A Death-Eater_ , he thought wildly.  _A Death Eater got into this house._

Of course, he thought it was Sirius – Sirius was being tortured. Sirius was dying. The blissful lassitude of firewhiskey disappeared, and adrenaline pumped through his veins.

It was on the third floor – in a tiny, cobwebby storage room – that he found it: a portrait of a Black ancestor, another Phineas, but not the Phineas Nigellus renowned for being the worst Headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen. This one was a young man, pale and unhealthy. He screamed as though he were under the Cruciatus Curse. His fingernails were clawing at his face, living bloody furrows. Tears streamed out of its eyes.

Harry was at a loss, and panting for breath. "Erm."

The portrait kept screaming.

Harry watched in fascinated horror as it clawed its own face to shreds. It no longer resembled any member of the Black family, instead looked like ground meat. "Stop," Harry said weakly. "Don't do that. Stop."

"IT'S HATCHED!" it cried.

At that moment, Sirius flew into the room, wand drawn, and banged out a spell. All noise ceased. The portrait began to heal, the damage it had done to itself reversed in an upward flurry of black and red paint. In minutes, the image was once again of a smooth-skinned young wizard. He looked enough like Regulus Black to be his twin.

Sirius did not look at Harry.

"He won't start that up again tonight," said Sirius.

"That's… good to know," Harry said weakly.

Sirius did not offer a word of explanation, but grunted that he was going to bed, and Harry ought to think about doing the same. Harry thought that was rich, coming from a man who had the most bizarre sleeping habits Harry'd ever seen. But Harry did trudge back down to his second-floor bedroom. He no longer shared it with Ron, of course. Sirius had waved his wand, and the two beds merged together and became one large one.

Harry flopped down on this transfigured bed, and stared at the ceiling. He did not think he would sleep, not after the rush of searching for Sirius, believing him to be tortured. Again. It made him think of Ginny, and wished he could visit her.  _Maybe she can hear us_ , Harry thought.  _I could tell her now that it's safe, we're going to do everything we can to bring her back._

He fell asleep thinking exactly what he wanted to say.

3.

He did not get a chance to talk privately with her for several days.

The day after the pub, he arrived early at the Burrow. Molly was in the kitchen, performing her usual magic with food. Breakfast was perfectly delicious; the table outside groaned with the amount of food she laid out. (It actually groaned; Charlie'd enchanted it to talk). Harry grabbed every single one of his favorites: hash browns, fried eggs, bacon, sausage, and a fruit medley. By the time he was done, the waistband of his trousers felt rather tight.

Arthur pulled him aside after the meal. Harry was in sort of a stupor, but he pulled it together at Arthur's words.

"We've got a wizard coming from the Department of Mysteries next week," Arthur said quietly. "Now that He-Who – now that V-Voldemort is gone, they're prepared to offer all of their help." His jaw tightened, and Harry saw the strain on his face. "Would you – I know you went through all of it before… so many times. But Harry – this is someone who might have fresh insight. Would you give him an interview?"

"Of course," Harry said immediately.

Arthur's warm hand came down on his shoulder. "Thank you, Harry," he said. " _Thank you_."

Harry wanted to tell him that he would do anything to undo the mistake he had made, leading Ginny into danger like that. The words stuck in his throat, and would not come out. Harry had to drink a glass of pumpkin juice and several glasses of water before the lump was gone. By that time, the twins had already headed into the suitcase where Ginny still slept.

Disappointed, Harry stared down the ladder, listening to Fred and George arguing with each other.

"They'd spend all day down there if they could," Charlie came up behind him, and patted him awkwardly on the back. "Dad had to sting them yesterday, to get them to come out and go to the pub."

Harry nodded. The twins had every right to want to be there with their sister.

Later that evening, he just wished they'd take a break, or something. Sirius had arrived a bit before dinner, and was now in the process of being defeated at chess by Ron. "Is he cheating somehow?" Sirius asked Ron's chess players. They jeered at him.

"Ron beats everyone at chess," Harry told Sirius. Not that Sirius didn't know. There had been many a chess game during the terrible hunt for all of Voldemort's Horcruxes. This was probably the hundredth time Ron beat Sirius. Harry looked around the room, looking to see if the twins had left Ginny's side. No luck.

Finally, Harry realized that it was simply not going to happen that day. Both Sirius and Harry left the Burrow in defeat.

The next day, it was Molly who sat with her daughter.

Harry clattered down the ladder. The twins were still in bed, Hermione'd told him. Now was his chance. Excitement at being able to tell Ginny that he was going to find a way for her to come back made him hurry, and when he saw Molly sitting there with a knitting basket at her feet, and needles in the air in front of her working busily at making a striped sock, he nearly tripped.

He caught himself on a small worktable. It didn't budge – it was permanently attached, and part of the magic of the suitcase. "Erm – hi, Molly." He caught a bottle of ink before it rolled off the table.

"Oh, hello, Harry, dear," she said.

Harry walked closer. As he suspected and feared, there were tears dripping down her face. There was an answering ache in Harry's stomach. Guilt, he knew. None of the Weasleys had ever blamed him for what had happened. In a way, that only increased his urge to undo his mistake. Maybe it would have been easier if they'd finally decided enough was enough; it was much too dangerous to help Harry. Instead, they'd remained at his side; they'd let Ron come with him to look for Horcruxes. They'd been constant, loving support.

Harry wanted to tell Ginny all of this, to tell her that he was going to earn that support somehow.

"It feels good to be near her," said Molly. The knitting needles paused in her work as she gestured toward her daughter. "There is peace and comfort here, even with her so… so…" But she could not seem to make herself continue, and Harry did not press.

He understood, though.

Ginny was as unchanged as she'd been since the day she'd fallen through.

"Arthur said he told you about the Unspeakable who is coming to see her?" There was a faint lilt at the end, letting Harry know he was expected to answer.

"Yeah," he said. "He did. I'll plan to be there… I'm trying to remember if there is anything helpful I haven't said before. But it doesn't matter. I'll say it all again."

"I know you will." The needles resumed their work.

Harry looked at Ginny again.

 _What happened to you? What happened beyond the Veil? Where did you go? Why can't you come back? How do we_ get  _you back?_

He stood there for a long while, contemplating all the things he wanted to know. Then, when it occurred to him that Molly likely wanted privacy with her daughter, he left.

The next day, he tried again. This time, it was clear from the moment he arrived at the Burrow that it was not to be. "They're all down there," Hermione said, gesturing toward the suitcase. "Even Ron. I think they're making plans, or maybe just… talking to her, telling her about their year. Or maybe all three years." She made a helpless gesture. "I… wanted to give them privacy."

Harry nodded, and decided to go flying.

It was a windy day.

Sirius, true to form, had bought him a new Firebolt the day after he'd lost his old one. Harry rode this new one now, admiring the way it handled the turbulence. It was as though it knew instinctively how to ride it out, which air currents to follow, and which ones it was to avoid without dumping its rider. Harry pulled his goggles over his glasses, and rode where the wind took him.

The goggles took away a lot of his peripheral vision, and Harry nearly flew into red sparks before he realized there were two tiny figures on the ground trying to get his attention. He immediately recognized Luna's house, and he drifted down toward it.

"OI!" Neville yelled, waving his arm.

"I see you!" Harry shouted. They were close enough he could see they were holding hands. Their fingers were laced tightly together.

Luna made tea, and they ate in the garden. The dirigible plums were ripe, and rising from the tree, tethered to it by thin cords of magic. "Are those edible?" Harry asked curiously. Luna handed him one, and he ate it in three bites. It was juicy and delicious.

They sat together on a faded yellow blanket. Harry was almost on the edge. Neville and Luna were taking up a lot of space. Neville had his arms around her, and she sat in the vee of his legs, curled up against his chest.

Harry could not help but ask: "So… you two…?"

Luna nodded dreamily. "Yes. Oh, yes."

"Erm, it hasn't been long, we – erm –  _reconnected_ at the pub," Neville said, flushing.

This surprised Harry, if only because the only people he'd seen Neville with at the Leaky Cauldron were Dean and Seamus. "Well, that's great," he said. They spoke of other things, then, lazily enjoying the time together. He thought idly that Ginny would enjoy this. She'd always been fond of Neville and Luna, and would have enjoyed the idea of two such different personalities getting together.

"How's Ginny?" Neville asked, as though reading his thoughts.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. "The same, I think."

"At least it isn't getting worse," Neville offered.

"An Unspeakable is coming next week," Harry told them. They'd been at the Department of Mysteries that night, too. "Arthur and Molly might ask you to come… Arthur thinks they'll need to interview me again. Neville," Harry said. "You might remember more than I would. Everything was – is sort of a blur. I just remember leaping at her, grabbing her ankle."

"We should use that Pensieve you told me about," Neville said. He stretched, and in doing so, moved closer to Harry.

Harry scooted further off the blanket. The grass was wet against his bum, and Harry figured it was time to leave. Both Neville and Luna were disappointed, but understood. Harry grabbed his Firebolt, said goodbye one more time, promised to come back soon, and left them still cuddling each other on a blanket Harry privately thought was much too small for three people.

4.

It was Saturday before Harry finally got his chance to speak privately to Ginny.

The twins went to Diagon Alley to check about renting the same premises they'd had before. Weasleys Wizard Wheezes would be back, it seemed. "Ginny would've wanted it," Fred told him earnestly. Harry agreed.

Percy – who had also been a frequent lurker at Ginny's side –- had to go into the Ministry, and Molly and Arthur went to visit Muriel.

Harry was fervently grateful that Ron and Hermione disappeared up the stairs to Ron's room not long after everyone else left. He suspected he had an idea what they were about to get up to, and fully approved – he'd have plenty of time to talk to Ginny.

He took down a steaming mug of hot chocolate. It was hot even through his gloves.

"Hey," he said lamely.

Harry cleared his throat, and then he told her everything. "I'm guessing you've already heard a lot of this," he told her, and then launched into a full account of the last three years. "Sixth year, all we wanted to do was find some way to bring you back. Dumbledore was teaching me about the Horcruxes, but even he was distracted… he got cursed. That was, oh, around Christmas." He told her everything else, large and small. "Dumbledore died in the middle of my seventh year." Then he told her how. "The world changed overnight. I went into hiding with Ron and Hermione and Sirius… everyone thought Ron got sick with spattergoit. We tricked them. Your Aunt Muriel thought it was real, and wouldn't come around to the Burrow. Your dad thought that was just fine…"

He drank his hot chocolate. It was cold by now. "We found all the Horcruxes. Umbridge had the last one, can you believe it? We went to the Ministry to get it, but they figured us out. Voldemort came…" Harry told her about Remus and Tonks, told her about the Horcrux inside him, told her about taking the killing curse. "I was sort of dead," he said. "Dead enough to see my parents, anyway. I kept thinking I'd see you there, and then when Dumbledore showed up, said I had a choice, said I could go back to my body, I realized that I could… I hope that I can help you. What happened to you… it was my fault. It's the greatest regret of my life."

Then he did something he never had before. He pulled the glove off his marred hand, and took her hand in his. She was warm and solid against his fingertips, where ghostly flesh met ghostly flesh. Harry traced a circle on her palm, then added wings, making it a Snitch. His story wound down, and he sat there quietly. Molly hadn't been lying. Right or wrong, Harry found comfort and solace in touching her.

"Harry?" Ron's voice was loud. "You ever going to come up, or…?"

"Yeah."

Harry let her go.

5.

His dreams that night were vivid.

First, he was flying on a hippogriff over a desert. He was looking for something; water, maybe. Harry was just landing at an oasis, when he was swept away to a mountaintop, talking to a giant bird. He recognized it from an old book, and then he was in a library…

Harry rolled over, eyes cracking open. The portrait was screaming again. He knew Sirius would take care of it, and sleep pulled him under once more. He was in a private corner of Hogwarts, listening to the suits of armor battle each other behind an unfamiliar door. Someone was shouting instructions at them; Harry realized it was Ron, and the suits of armor were chess pieces, and they were trying to stop Snape from getting the Philosopher's Stone…

Then he was in the Gryffindor common room again, and this time Ginny sat in front of him. Stunned, Harry just stared. There was a fire in the grate, and it flickered on her hair, sending golden sparks up the red strands. They were playing gobstones; her brow was furrowed in concentration. His chest felt very tight. It was her turn to go. Warm pleasure spread through him as he watched her hands – her delightfully real, solid looking hands – curve around the gobstones and shake them out on the table.

"Ginny," Harry said.

Her eyes flew to his. More pleasure surged. She looked so  _real_. "Oh, you're here," Ginny whispered, covering her mouth. "Harry, you're here!"

But then he suddenly wasn't. At the sound of her voice, Harry's eyes flew open, and he sat up, even as he inexplicably felt himself come. He flopped back down on the bed, heart-racing. There a growing damp spot in the front of his pajamas, but he didn't care. He forced his eyes closed, trying to find her again, but if Harry dreamed of Ginny again that night, he didn't remember.


End file.
